


Not the Only One

by EbonyNevaeh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Battle of Wits, F/M, Geniuses, Heavy Sarcasm, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyNevaeh/pseuds/EbonyNevaeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is the only consulting detective in the world... that he knows of. What would happen if a certain red headed detective suddenly showed up at a crime scene and manipulated her way into the boys lives? Who is this woman? What is she doing in London? More importantly, how will Sherlock react? <br/>This story focuses a lot on a female OC and Sherlock interacting. Sherlock is OCC at times (sorry) and I've messed with the timeline so that Blind Banker came before Study in Pink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Who are you?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Some of you may know that I had previously posted this work, that also means that you would know I have taken it under heavy revision. I have just finished my complete rewriting of the prologue, which is what is below. Basically I extended it from a mere 1,900 words to the current 4,400 (I added more description mostly) so hopefully it is more entertaining and easier to follow. Please feel free to comment and such, I love comments and criticism (though flamers with have marshmallows roasted over them for s'mores) Enjoy~

It was a typical day in London, with gray clouds in the sky and a steady drizzle falling to the ground. It wasn’t a heavy enough rain to really effect anything, but rather one of those rains that merely made a day miserable. Of course the residents of London barely registered the moisture as they were used to it, including the Detective Inspector walking across the wet tarmac. Small puddles had formed in the small dips of the pavement and a gentle splash was heard as DI Lestrade’s shoe displaced the water. Ignoring the small amount of water the DI continued to walk towards the small but luxurious private jet sitting passively on the runway. As he approached, a roll up stairway was wheeled to the door to the jet and the large door was opened. Lestrade paused at the bottom of the steps and shifted almost nervously from foot to foot, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he looked around, his back towards the stairs.

After a few moments of waiting footsteps were heard on the metal behind him and Lestrade turned to look at the figure there. The woman paused at the top of the stairs looking at her surroundings before pulling her coat around her more tightly to fend off the London chill. Finally her eyes landed on Lestrade and he felt himself straightening under her scrutinizing gaze, those piercing blue eyes making him feel incompetent and as if he need to prove himself. Once she had regarded him she looked back into the plane and turned to receive the book that the captain of the plane handed her. With that done she headed down the stairs and strode up to Lestrade. Her petite frame forced her to look up at him, despite that Lestrade felt about two inches tall under the intense gaze.

“I’m sorry for your-”

“They aren’t dead.” The woman's american accent interrupted him as she looked around the tarmac again. “That your car?” She asked as she began to stride towards it. Lestrade stood there frozen for a moment before he quickly set out after her.

“Yeah, well wait a second!” He cried and put a hand on her shoulder forcing her to turn back and face him. Once she faced him an annoyed expression quickly twisted her features.

“What,” she bit out, Lestrade taking an involuntary step back. “is so important as it cannot be discussed in the warmth of the car? Because right now I am cold and it does nothing to help my temper.” She paused for a moment to wait for an answer that never came before nodding to herself. “Good.” With that she walked away from him and headed to the car. She easily opened it and climbed in on the passenger side. Lestrade paused for just a moment before heading over and going to the drivers side. Grabbing the handle, he pulled and sighed as he realized the door was locked. Pulling his keys out of his pocket, he unlocked his door and slid into the seat. As he put the key in the ignition and started the car he was about to drive off when a thought occurred to him.

“The car was locked,” he said.

“Excellent observation, maybe the police aren’t incredibly useless after all,” the woman replied as she leaned over and cranked up the heat, still burrowed in her jacket.

“You picked the lock?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“I told you, it’s cold.”

“You broke into a patrol car because it was cold?”

“Yes, now can we go?” She gave him another irritated look and he turned to the front, shaking his head slightly as he put the car into drive and off they went. The woman opened her book and it was silent for a few moments except for the purr of the engine and the light rustling of the pages turning. Finally mustering up the courage to ask what she was doing Lestrade turned to the woman.

“Reading.” The woman replied to the unasked question. When Lestrade opened his mouth to ask what she held up a hand. “Quiet.” Lestrade’s jaw snapped shut and he focused back on the road. Two minutes later the book snapped shut and the woman turned slightly to face the DI.

“Say the alphabet phonetically.” She ordered quickly.

“What, why?” Lestrade asked confused.

“Just do it.”

Lestrade paused for a moment before sighing and doing as she asked. When she next opened her mouth Lestrade was surprised not the hear the american accent he had associated with the daughter of his two best agents, but rather an authentic London accent.

“Now, where is it?”

After recovering from the shock Lestrade cleared his throat before answering.

“Ah, Brixton, Lauriston Gardens. What were you reading?”

Instead of answering the woman merely held up the book revealing the title London A to Z before the woman took it and shoved it in the glove box of his car.

“So these deaths, there's been three of them.” The woman stated.

“Yes, all three took the same drug and all were in places they shouldn't be.” Lestrade replied.

“What makes this one different?”

“You’ve read up on the case right?”

“Of course.”

“You know how they never leave notes?”

“Yeah.”

“This one did.”

The woman paused in thought for a moment before a grin spread across her face.

“Wonderful.” Was her only comment before silence fell aside from the purr of the engine and noise of London life.  Finally they reached the crime scene and as the woman stepped out of the car many of the officer gave her odd looks yet she paid them no mind as she swept into the building and began heading up the stairs. Yet she was stopped when a female officer stood in front of her and prevented her from continuing up.

“Who are you?” The officer asked, a Sergeant Sally Donovan according to the badge clipped to her belt. The woman looked over Sally before rolling her eyes. “Why are you here?”

“I was invited.” The woman answered taking a step to the right intending to continue up but Sally moved as well.

“Why?” Sergeant Donovan asked.

“I think the Detective Inspector would like me to take a look.” The woman replied sarcastically before pushing by and continuing up the stairs.

“Now you wait a second!” Sally cried and started after the woman. Lestrade chose that minute to arrive and he sighed.

“Sally! Just leave it!” He called and Sally paused as the woman continued up the stairs. Lestrade started up the steps and Sally met him halfway.

“You know her?” She asked.

Just then the woman’s voice echoed down and Lestrade looked up to find her giving him a look that sent ice through his veins and had his heart beating nervously.

“You could say that,” he murmured as he hurried up the stairs. When the woman was convinced he was on his way she turned only to find herself face with another obstacle, this one in the form of a forensic analyst.

“Who are you?” he asked, Jezebel looked him over quickly before realizing she wouldn’t get by him without answering his question.

“I’m here because Lestrade brought me, and your name is?”

“Anderson.”

“Well Anderson, I’d say it a pleasure to meet you but that would be a lie. Let me through.” She said annoyed and tried to move past him.

“It’s a crime scene I don’t want it contaminated.” Anderson replied and the woman let out an annoyed huff looking him over again.

“How long is your wife away?” She asked abruptly.

“Who told you that?” Anderson spluttered.

“Your deodorant.”

“My deoderant?”

“Yes, it’s for men.”

“Of course it is. I’m wearing it.”

“So is Sergeant Donovan.” The woman said and used his temporary shock to slip into the room where there were blue sanitary coveralls and latex gloves. The woman had just grabbed a pair of latex gloves when Anderson turned to face her.

“Whatever you’re trying to imply-”

“I’m implying anything, I’m sure the good Sergeant merely came around for nice chat and just so happened to stay over. And she must have been so kind as to scrub your floors going by the state of her knees.” The woman interrupted before pulling on the gloves with a snap and heading into the room where the body was. She stood by the door for a few moments, inspecting the room and waiting for Lestrade.

“Her name is Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. Right now we are running them for contact details. Some kids found her,” the DI said as he walked into the room.

The woman nodded briefly before stepping closer to the body. As she moved closer her attention was immediately drawn to to the letters scratched into the wooden floor on the left side of the victim’s head. It was possible the victim was left handed after checking the victims hands and noting that the polish on the index and middle finger of her left hand was chipped and broken from scratching it was confirmed. Jennifer Wilson had been left-handed. Then the woman turned her attention to the letters themselves. Rache. Immediately: Rache: German, revenge, came to the front of her mind. Silently the woman gave a tiny dismissive shake of her head. Looking back to the words she mentally placed a clearer type over the words and letters began to fly across her vision before finally settling on Rachel. Nodding to herself the woman then turned to the victim’s coat. Running a hand across the back of the victim’s jacket she lifted her gloves to inspect the tips of her fingers. Noting the moisture on her gloves the woman then looked through the woman’s pockets. In the left hand pocket there was a white umbrella the woman ran her fingers along the folds of the material. Dry. The woman paused for only a moment before putting the umbrella back and running her fingers under the collar of the victim’s coat. Wet. Reaching into her pocket the woman pulled out a small magnifying glass and began to inspect the victim's jewelry. First she looked at the victim's necklace, the earrings, the bracelet on her left wrist, and finally at the wedding ring. All of the jewelry was well cared for and carefully cleaned, except for her wedding ring. Curiously the woman reached forward and gently pulled the ring off the corpse’s finger before examining the inside. The inside was shiny and well polished, but the outside was dirty as if she never cared for it. The victim was married, but not happily. The ring itself was between ten and fifteen years old. Because the inside was shinier than the outside it must have been regularly removed. The victim obviously didn’t work with her hands, her nails were too well cared for, therefore the victim must have removed it for a lover. She was an adulterer, however she wouldn’t have settled with just one lover. The woman then made her final deduction. Serial adulterer.

The woman smirked slightly as she stood and pulled the gloves from her hands. Shoving the pile of latex into her pocket the woman pulled out her mobile and began to type quickly.

“Well?” Lestrade asked. The woman smirked again as she found what she wanted before turning and heading towards the door.

“You may want to call your detective now. I’m sure he’d pout for ages if you didn’t tell him about this,” the woman said as she walked out of the room before turning back to Lestrade. “I’ll be on the roof, text me when he’s here.”

Lestrade watched her petite form before signing. After taking off his blue coverall and heading down the stairs to his car, he was on his way to 221B Baker Street.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At 221B it was a calm day. There weren’t any cases that had come in that day, and luckily Sherlock was focused on his experiments. humming quietly to himself John stood from his chair and headed into the kitchen, easily navigating the sea of beakers and petri dishes, to make himself another cup of tea before he headed back into the living room to sit in front of the telly. The calm that had settled on 221B was relaxing and John was honestly enjoying it for the moment. Unfortunately the peace lasted only long enough for him to drink half of his tea before footsteps were heard on the stairs and Lestrade appeared in the room. Sherlock was out of his chair instantly and looking at Lestrade with barely contained excitement.

“Where?” Sherlock bounced on his feet eagerly as he asked.

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.” Lestrade had a disorientating feeling of deja vu as sherlock asked his next question.

“What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if something wasn’t different.”

“You know how they never leave notes?” Lestrade asked.

“Yeah.”

“This one did, will you come?”

“Not In a police car, I’ll be right behind,” Sherlock answered as he began to gather his things. John sighed and stood moving into the kitchen to dump out his tea before heading back into the living room to grab his coat as well.

“Thank you,” Lestrade said before he was down the stairs and into his car again heading back to the crime scene. As John was pulling on his coat Sherlock was jumping around like a kid on christmas morning.

“Three serial suicides and now a note! Oh it’s christmas!” He cried happily as he gathered his coat and things before darted out the door and down to the street, John on his heels. Calling a cab the two sat silently for the journey across London. Upon arriving at the crime scene they were approached by none other than Sally Donovan.

“Hello, freak,” she said condescendingly.

“I’m here to see Lestrade,” Sherlock replied.

“Why?”

“I was invited.”

“Why?” The question was spit out like an insult, as if Sherlock were dirt on her shoe.

“I think he wants me to take a look,” Sherlock replied sarcastically.

“Well, you know what I think.”

“Always Sally.” Sherlock slipped under the crime scene tape, breathing in through his nose he paused for a moment. “And I know you didn’t make it home last night.” John quickly followed Sherlock under the tape and together they headed towards the building.

“I don’t ---” Sally let out a sigh giving up. “Freaks here,” Sally said into her radio before following them. As they walked Sherlock inspected the area around them, taking in everything he could about their location. As soon as their feet touched the pavement Anderson came walking towards them, still dressed in his coveralls.

“It’s a crime scene, I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?” Anderson asked. Sherlock took another deep breath through his nose.

“Quite clear. Is your wife away for long?” Sherlock asked. Anderson looked at him in shock for a moment before he recovered.

“Oh don’t act like you figured that out. Someone told you,” Anderson said.

“Your deodorant told me that.”

“My deodorant?”

“It’s for men.”

“Of course it’s for men I’m wearing it.”

“So is Sergeant Donovan.” Anderson spun to look at Sally who looked just as shocked and confused as he did. Sherlock sniffed pointedly. “Oh and I believe it just vaporized, may I go in?” Sherlock asked as he, with John in tow, brushed past Anderson and down the footpath to the door of the house.

“Now wait a minute,” Anderson called as he spun to face Sherlock. “Whatever you’re  trying to imply,” he said weakly, remembering just a few minutes previously the same conversation with a petite, redheaded woman.

“I’m not trying to imply anything. Surely Sally just came around to chat and happened to stay over.” Giving a pointed look to her knees Sherlock then looked back to Anderson. “And she must have scrubbed your floors by the state of her knees.” Sherlock then turned and walked into the building confidently. John following closely.

They strode up the stairs and met Lestrade as they walked.

“I can give you two minutes,” Lestrade said.

“May need more,” Sherlock commented as he brushed past Lestrade. Pausing in the room with the overalls he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and waited on John and Lestrade pulled on the obnoxious blue coveralls before heading into the room. Once in the room Sherlock and the others stood completely still for a few moments before Sherlock looked over to Lestrade.

“Shut up,” He snapped.

“I didn’t say anything,” Lestrade claimed innocently.

“You were thinking, it’s annoying.” Sherlock then moved forward towards the body. First his attention went to the writing by the womans head. Dismissively he shook his head before squatting next to the corpse. He ran his hand over the victim’s back before pulling his hand back and looking closely at the fingertips of his gloves. Sherlock then searched her pockets, finding the umbrella he pulled it out and ran his fingers along the folds of material before again inspecting his fingertips. Making a mental note he turned to run his fingers under the collar of the victims coat before again inspecting his fingertips. With that done he pulled a small magnifying glass out of his pocket and leaned in to get a look at the woman’s jewelry. Upon reaching the wedding ring on her left finger he paused before gently pulling it from her finger and inspecting the inside. After slipping the ring back on the corpses finger he stood and took out his phone.

“Got anything?” Lestrade asked.

“Not much,” Sherlock replied nonchalantly as he typed on his phone.

“She’s german,” Anderson said from the doorway. “Rache: it’s German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something-”

“Yes thank you for your input,” Sherlock said as he moved to the door and closed it in Anderson’s face.

“So she’s German?” Lestrade asked confused.

“Of course not-” Sherlock began.

“But she is from out of town.” A female voice announced. John and Sherlock spun to face here the voice had come from. “She intended to stay in London for a single night before returning home to Cardiff.” Sherlock looked at her affronted for a moment. The woman gave him a look and grinned. “Well go on, don’t gape. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Who are you?” Sherlock demanded once he had collected himself. The woman smirked again before turning to Lestrade.

“Your victim is in her late thirties. A professional person going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night,” The woman said easily. Sherlock stood silently before moving closer.

“Got that by the size of her suitcase?” He asked and the woman looked at him.

“Of course.”

“Wait, suitcase?” Lestrade interrupted the two of them. They both turned from where they had been closely scrutinizing each other to look at the DI.

“Suitcase yes,” Sherlock said and moved over to look down at the body, the woman standing across from him. “She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.”

“Oh for gods sake if you’re just making this up!” Lestrade exclaimed.

“Her wedding ring. It’s at least 10 years old. She takes good care of her jewelry, it’s all regularly cleaned, except for her wedding ring. The outside is dirty but the inside of the band is cleaning. The only cleaning it gets is when she works it off her finger.” The woman supplied, gesturing towards the mentioned piece of jewelry.

“She doesn’t take it off for work, just look at her fingernails. She doesn’t work with her hands. So what -or rather who does she take her ring off for? Clearly not one lover-” Sherlock began.

“She’d never sustain being single for that amount of time.” The woman interjected.

“So more likely a string of them. Simple,” Sherlock finished.

“Cardiff?” Lestrade asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sherlock asked. Lestrade gave him and look and the woman looked at Lestrade in mild surprise and almost disappointment.

“It should be fairly obvious.” She said and Lestrade felt himself deflate a little with guilt of her disappointment before he caught himself and straightened up with a frown.

“Dear god what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring,” Sherlock commented and the woman gave him a reprimanding look which Sherlock shrugged off easily.

“It’s her coat, it’s slightly damp. She was in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain ianywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She turned it up against the wind. In her left hand pocket there is an umbrella, yet it’s dry; not just wind, strong wind. Strong enough that she couldn’t use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight so she must have come a decent distance but she couldn't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried. So where has there been heavy rain and strong wind with that travel time?” The woman easily explained before turning the Sherlock who looked rather put out that he didn’t get to deliver the explanation. Sherlock pressed a few keys on his phone and showed the screen to Lestrade.

“Cardiff,” Sherlock said easily his pout quickly disappearing.

“Why d’you keep saying suitcase?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer of some sort.” Sherlock spun in a circle searching the room quickly. “Find out who Rachel is,” Sherlock ordered.

“She was writing Rachel?” Lestrade asked, obviously unable to keep up with the thought process of two geniuses. The woman snorted lightly.

“No, she was writing an angry message in German,” she said sarcastically.

“The question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?” Sherlock asked rhetorically.

“How d’you know she had a suitcase?” Lestrade asked and the woman let out a small huff of annoyance.

“Is he always this slow?” She asked Sherlock.

“Unfortunately all of them are,” he replied.

“Hm, now I’m starting to see the appeal of you extracurriculars,” The woman replied as she turned to explain to Lestrade. “Back of her right leg: tiny splash marks on her heel and calf yet not present on her left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase with her right hand. That splash pattern doesn’t occur in any other way. Smallish going by the size of the spread. A woman this clothes conscious, must be an overnight bag.”

Lestrade squatted next to the body to examine the marks more carefully.

“Now where is the case, what have you done with it?” Sherlock asked.

“There wasn’t any case,” Lestrade replied. A light seemed to go off over both Sherlock’s and the woman’s head. Sherlock was ready to dash out of the room but the woman quickly blocked his way. They had a silent fight through miniscule facial expressions before the woman turned to Lestrade as Sherlock began to sulk slightly.

“The case, its somewhere within a five mile radius in an alleyway big enough for a car. Go,” She ordered and Lestrade rushed from the room. The woman took another look at the room before stepping out as well. Sherlock paused for only a moment before following the woman, John close on his heels and utterly confused. Finally they caught her on the sidewalk outside of the house.

“Who are you?” Sherlock demanded again. The woman grinned at him.

“Of course you wouldn’t know. Maybe you can figure it out,” She said and grinned at him as she took a step back gesturing towards herself. Sherlock looked her over. The woman was rather petite, only about 5’ 1” and was rather solidly built, but not bulky. He would probably say Irish except for the typical broad shoulders of the Germans. Dressed in a dark v neck t-shirt and fitting jeans it was apparent she took care of her physical well being. It was likely that she rarely got sick. Her hair was a deep red with the occasional shimmer of a blonde color, and it fell in a mass of loose curls and gentle waves around her face. Across her cheeks there was a light smattering of freckles and dark eyelashes surrounded a piercing, icy blue gaze. Yet as Sherlock tried to dig further he could tell nothing more about her than these obvious physical traits.

“How are you doing that?” He asked her mildly surprised.

“You know how, you do it as well,” she replied with a grin.

“Who _are_ you,” He asked again. The woman gave him a sly look and avoided the question.

“What do you do for a living Mr. Holmes?” She asked instead.

“Surely you must know,” He replied.

“I want to hear it.”

“Fine, if you must know. I’m a consulting detective, the only one in the world.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Of course, I made up the job.” The reply was confident, completely sure.

“Well, to put it simply, not.”

“Not what?”

“Not the only one.”


	2. Chapter 1: What do you mean?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys discover who Jezebel is, some surprising arrangements are made, and the group sets out to find the killer.

_“Fine, if you must know. I’m a consulting detective, the only one in the world.”_

_“Are you sure about that?”_

_“Of course, I made up the job.” The reply was confident, completely sure._

_“Well, to put it simply, not.”_

_“Not what?”_

_“Not the only one.”_

A shocked silence took over the small group as Sherlock scrutinized the woman in front of him. Rather than shrinking under the intense gaze as many people would, the woman seemed to stand taller. Her chin lifted slightly and her shoulder moved back a bit as she straightened her posture and gave as good as she got. The silent battle continued for several moments until a gentle shiver wracked the womans body and she wrapped her large coat tighter around her frame. Sherlock’s expression shifted minutely and he reached into his pocket. Dialing quickly he called for a cab before putting the phone away. John watched as another shiver wracked the woman’s frame before taking off his own coat and wrapping it around her shoulders, providing extra warmth from the thick, worn leather.

“Thank you.” The woman offered quietly, her voice echoing just barely off the cobblestones around them. Unfortunately the added warmth only did so much, what she really needed was the get out of the cold, she could already feel the pins and needles beginning in her left arm, where they always did. As she began to shiver again John took pity and wrapped an arm around her. Gratefully the woman leaned into the warmth. By the time the cab arrived she was feeling a fair bit warmer and when Sherlock opened the door before John helped her in she even smiled gently. Once they had all piled into the cab and the woman had sat next the the heater which was one full blast she handed John’s coat back to him.

“Explain,” Sherlock said, much more gently than if he hadn’t seen her still trying to rub the pins and needles from her left arm.

“Jezebel Blithe, consulting detective,”She offered as she held out her right hand. “We weren’t properly introduced now were we?” Sherlock looked at the offered appendage for a moment before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and her took her hand firmly, but cautiously as he wasn’t inclined to sadistic tendencies and didn’t wish to hurt her. With that out of the way Jezebel sank back in the seat and curled up as she warmed by the heater. Sherlock leaned back and looked at her curiously. He was obviously attempting to figure out how such a thing could be possible.

“How old are you Jezebel?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“Why Mr. Holmes here I was thinking you were a gentleman. Dont’ you know you never ask a lady her age?” She asked rhetorically with a smirk on her face.

“Well if you are even remotely similar to your namesake I don’t believe I am in the presence of a lady,” Sherlock replied easily with his own smirk.

“Are you implying that I am a hussy?” Jezebel asked affronted. John gasped in barely concealed horror and as Jezebel looked at him she couldn’t hold back and a laugh escaped her. “Oh calm down John, you look like you’re about to drop dead of a heart attack.” Of course this didn’t calm John any, merely make him flushed in mild embarrassment and anger and Sherlock’s own chuckles joined Jezebel’s laughter. Eventually the two calmed down and the redness in john’s face disappeared. It took a few moments before Sherlock paused, the wheels in that ridiculously large brain churning as he looked at Jezebel. His eyes narrowed and she merely shrugged it off. While Sherlock did still appear annoyed he also had a look of admiration, which made John incredibly curious as to what Sherlock had thought of.

“Twenty two,” Jezebel suddenly said Sherlock merely nodded but John, of course, looked confused.

“Sorry, what?”

“Sherlock asked how old I am. I’m twenty two,” She answered before turning and looking out the window. John thought silently for a moment.

“That seems a little young,” She said and the two detectives looked at him. “I mean it seems young for this sort of thing, for the whole being a genius detective thing.”

“Nonsense, these things start early John. People like me, well us, start to notice patterns among humans at an early age. We can’t help it. Besides, I’m only twenty six,” Sherlock answered. Unfortunately John’s face only got even more confused.

“He means to say that we can’t help but to look around and notice similarities, the patterns between behavior, appearance, and thought processes. Like how we can tell that you’re wearing that shirt for the second day, you meant to run laundry yesterday but Sherlock dragged you off to something and it didn’t get done,” Jezebel explained. John’s face cleared of its confusion though his brow then wrinkled in thought as he tried to figure out when to do laundry. The silence held for several minutes before John looked around them curiously.

“Where are we going?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Home of course,” Sherlock responded. John looked to Jezebel.

“Where are you going?”

“With you,” Jezebel replied easily as she crossed her legs and tapped her foot against her calf. Jezebel was watching John carefully, like a predator studying it’s victim. John turned away from that intense gaze to look at Sherlock only to notice him tracking the movement of Jezebel’s foot. Seeing he would get no help there John turned back to Jezebel.

“You’re not living with us though,” he stated. Jezebel merely grinned at him and leaned over to pat his cheek as she cooed slightly.

“Oh now I see why you keep him Sherlock, so cute. Like a little hedgehog, all prickly on the outside but so cute and adorable otherwise.” Jezebel turned to look at Sherlock who had a small grin dancing across his lips.

“I’m not ‘kept’...” John began affronted as they pulled up to the curb in front of 221 Baker Street. Before he could finish Sherlock had opened the door and climbed out before offering a hand to help Jezebel out as well.

“I thought I wasn’t a lady,” she commented with a smirk to Sherlock who merely offered his elbow to her. Taking it she continued to smirk before leaning in a saying something that had Sherlock laughing quietly before they headed to 221. John scrambled out and was about to head into the building as well when he heard a throat clear behind him. Sighing John turned around. Apologizing he handed the cabbie a couple of bills before finally heading into 221. After re-opening the closed door John paused on the welcome mat and looked around. The foyer was filled with boxes of all shapes and sizes. Some were classic brown cardboard and had things like books and clothes written on the side. Others were clearly for transporting scientific materials, some were even cooled to keep whatever was inside cold. Hearing voices echoing John looked past the boxes and found the door the C open. Curiously he walked over to the door and listened. Mrs. Hudson’s voice echoed up to him and he began to descend the stairs. Once at the bottom he found Jezebel and Mrs. Hudson talking, well Mrs. Hudson was talking and Jezebel was listening, as Sherlock sat on the floor close by.

“I wish I had known you were coming sooner dearie so I could have had things ready. It’s going to take me a while to get things sorted down here for you,” Mrs. Hudson was saying. Jezebel smiled kindly at the older woman.

“Oh it’s not a problem Mrs. Hudson. I’m sure I can find somewhere else to stay for a few days,” Jezebel replied as she looked around and John followed her gaze. 221C was rough at the moment. The carpet was a grey color and had worn thin. The walls were in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint and it likely needed new insulation, if it had any at the moment.

“I hate that you have to find somewhere else,” Mrs. Hudson announced and paused in thought for a moment before her face lit up. “You could stay with Sherlock and John up in B,” Mrs. Hudson began. Sherlock groaned and stretched out so he was on his back and looking at the ceiling. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” she finished pointedly as she looked at Sherlock before turning to John. “Right?”

“Oh, um yeah of course. No problem,” John answered nodding slightly as well.

“Thank you both, I won’t be a bother. Promise,” Jezebel said almost sickly sweet. She gave them a victorious grin and Sherlock frowned slightly. John paused for a moment curious as to why that would have Sherlock upset. The wheels in John’s head turned and figurative smoke was just beginning to come out of his ears when a light bulb seemed to go off and his jaw dropped slightly as he looked at Jezebel. She had played them, she played them like a well trained musician plays their instrument. She had always planned to end up in 221B, she was counting on it, but why? John turned to Sherlock whose frown had deepened so he was now scowling at the ceiling. Apparently Sherlock couldn’t figure it out either. Despite that John’s head was still spinning, how is it that someone so like Sherlock, who was frankly horrible at social interaction, could be so manipulative? Manipulation required a certain social skill that Sherlock lacked yet Jezebel seemed to have mastered. Something that Jezebel said had Mrs. Hudson tutting and hauling them all upstairs. John followed still slightly dazed as they moved from C up to B where he then merely fell into his chair. Sherlock has trudged up still frowning slightly before pulling out his phone and ordering take out for them all. Meanwhile Mrs. Hudson bustled about the kitchen complaining about the mess that Sherlock had made and making tea for everyone. AS that went on Jezebel sat on the arm of Sherlock’s chair and looked at John.

“Are you okay, John? Something wrong?” she asked as she looked at him. John watched her carefully and couldn’t find a single hint that she might have been anything except sincere.

“No, nothing wrong. Just a little dazed,” he replied and Jezebel’s face broke into a grin.

“I do tend to have that effect on people,” she said with a smirk before standing as Sherlock came over to fall into his chair gracefully. Once he was settled into his chair he reached out and handed Jezebel one of the two cups he had in his hand. Gently Jezebel took the cup and looked down at the milky substance inside it. Inwardly she grimaced, her parents had always tried to get her to drink more tea as it was all they ever drank. However she just couldn’t understand the point of drinking watery leaves and never enjoyed the taste. Outwardly she politely thanking Sherlock and took a sip, smiling slightly as she did so. “Mrs. Hudson sure does know how to make a good cuppa.”

“That she does,” John answered as Mrs. Hudson came over to hand him his own cup.

“Oh you flatter me, but don’t come to expect this. I’m not your housekeeper,” Mrs. Hudson said with a stern look.

“Of course not Mrs. Hudson, I would never dream of treating you that way,” Jezebel soothed the older women's ruffled feathers lightly until the frowns in her face disappeared and only her few wrinkles remained. “Your hip must be bothering you terribly dear, you’re holding yourself strangely,” Jezebel commented and sure enough Mrs. Hudson was leaning fully on one leg. “Perhaps you should go and take your soother?”

“Now I don’t take order-” Mrs, Hudson began angrily and John had to hide a grin behind his cup, no one could tell Mrs. Hudson what to do. Except Sherlock on occasion.

“I’m not ordering,” Jezebel said looking hurt. “I am merely concerned about the state of your health Mrs. Hudson, I loathe the thought of such a sweet thing like you in pain.” Mrs. Hudson found herself looking down ashamed but also bashful and John watched on in awe. Jezebel truly was a master at playing people, she had gotten Mrs. Hudson to feel ashamed. “Would you please go take that soother Mrs. Hudson? I’d feel much better once you do,” Jezebel finished and Mrs. Hudson nodded.

“Of course dear.” And Mrs. Hudson was gone, down the stairs to A to take her herbal soother. John shook his head quietly and Sherlock was back to frowning as Jezebel seated herself more comfortably on the arm of his chair. For a while silence reigned in the flat aside from the gentle crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional splash of tea as someone tea as someone took a drink. Soon though a knock from downstairs was heard and Mrs. Hudson’s footsteps echoed as she headed to the door. A gentle whoosh of air from the door sent a slight rustling up the stairs.

“Sherlock, someone’s at the door for you!” Mrs. Hudson called up from the lobby. Sherlock silently pulled himself up out of his chair, placed his cup on the overly crowded coffee table, and headed down the stairs to replace Mrs. Hudson at the door. A small conversation and a few minutes later Sherlock re-appeared in the flat with his arms full of chinese take out. After dividing out the boxes and sticking a pair of chopsticks in each Sherlock handed out the food before taking his seat again. John struggled with the chopsticks for a moment, even a year after eating chinese take away regularly he still struggled with the eating utensils. Sherlock and Jezebel both wielded the chopsticks easily though and they began to eat silently. Minutes passed and the only sound was of them chewing before Jezebel checked her mobile then set it down next to her. A few minutes later Sherlock did the same. This pattern repeated, every five minutes one of them would check their mobiles. Finally after Jezebel had checked the screen of her mobile for the fifth time John was curious enough to ask.

“What are we doing?”

“We are waiting,” Jezebel answered as she placed another pinch of noodles in her mouth.

“Waiting for what?” John asked.

“A sign-” Sherlock began.

“Any sign really-” Jezebel continued.

“That Lestrade-” Sherlock again.

“Has any type of brain in his head-” Jezebel interrupted with an eye roll.

“And has found the suitcase.” They both ended up finishing together. John looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment.

“Why did you do that?” John asked again.

“Why did we decide to wait?” Jezebel fired back.

“No why did you- nevermind,” John stopped mid-thought before going back to his food. The two detective looked at each other in confusion for a moment before sharing a secret grin and turning back to their food. Eventually the food was gone and the group was back to playing the waiting game, but the two detectives seemed to get more and more impatient with each passing minute. Finally the front door opened and footsteps appeared on the stairs leading up to B. Sherlock and Jezebel were up so quickly that John had missed them moving and they watched Lestrade come up the stairs, a pink suitcase in hand. Sherlock rushed Lestrade up the stairs and Jezebel cleared a spot on the coffee table.

“Wait, this is still evidence-” Whatever Lestrade had been about to say was cut off as a box of latex gloves just barely cleared his nose as it flew into Sherlock’s hands. Jezebel then moved closer to the coffee table as she pulled on her own pair of the blue gloves. Sherlock quickly snapped his on and together they began to rummage through the case.

“Did you check under--”

“Of course I did do you think I’m---”

“No of course not, what about--”

“Yes, did you check the--”

“Of course I did. It’s--”

“Not here.” Jezebel finished their private, half conversation as she flopped back against the couch. Sherlock joined her on the couch and they both frowned, or pouted in Jezebel’s case, at the open bag in front of them. About half a minute later both of them seemed to light up as they turned to each other.

“Do you still have the-” Jezebel began.

“No I believe you-” Sherlock replied.

“No it was in your coat pocket.”

“You reverse pick-”

“My pocket has a-”

“Right.” Sherlock concluded and they both paused before fighting to get to Sherlock’s dark coat and begin searching the pockets. Sherlock found the small piece of paper they seemed to be looking for and Jezebel handed him John’s phone to type in the number. John paused for a moment looking at the phone before checking his pockets quickly.

“You-” John exclaimed.

“Hush,” Jezebel said and gave a small gesture. John glared but Jezebel and Sherlock ignored him in favor of typing in a quick message and sending it. They both then sat back against the couch and waited. The silent question hung in the air before Sherlock and Jezebel seemed to sigh.

“What’s missing from this?” Sherlock asked the blogger and the DI. John shrugged and Lestrade shook his head.

“Her phone,” Jezebel supplied for them.

“Perhaps she left it at home,” John said and both detectives shook their heads.

“She has a string of lovers she’s careful with her phone,” Sherlock answered and Jezebel nodded.

“Likely wouldn’t let it out of her sight,” she said quickly. There was a lull as the two consulting detectives waited for something to click with the two men in front of them. Finally John seemed to light up.

“The killer, you think the murderer has her phone,” John supplied.

“Maybe the killer took it from her.” Jezebel said casually, picking at her nails.

“Perhaps she left it when she left her case.” Sherlock stood as he said this and began to put on his coat,

“Either way--” Jezebel stood as well.

“The murderer has her phone.” They concluded together and turned to each other with a small frown before turning away. John continued to look confused.

“Wait, why would you text the murderer? What good will it do? Why--” John stopped as Requiem of a Dream began to play quietly from Jezebel’s phone. They all paused and turned to look at the screen of the smart phone vibrating on the table, the screen displaying in bold print ‘number withheld’

“A few hours after his most recent murder, he gets a text that he believe can only be from his latest victim.” Jezebel explained to John as the phone stopped ringing.

“A normal person would just ignore the text we sent, but the murderer…” Sherlock trailed off and looked to Jezebel.

“He’d panic.” John surprised both detectives by being the one to announce the obvious conclusion and pulled them both from their silent conversation. Jezebel smirked and moved over to the coat rack to grab her jacket and pull a hair tie from it’s pocket.

“Very good, John,” Sherlock said with a grin. His tone very similar to the way one may tell a dog good job as he went about gathering his own coat and scarf as Jezebel tied her hair up in a messy bun so it stayed out of her face.

“Yes, perhaps in a year or so you won’t need your hand held quite as much,” Jezebel quipped before she and Sherlock turned to head down the stairs and out to the curb. A cab pulled up to the sidewalk before John realized what was going on and he swore violently as she grabbed his coat and rushed down the stairs, just barely making it into the cab before the door closed. The cab pulled away from the edge of the road and began to move across town before John paused.

“Wait, where are we going?” He asked confused only to receive a smirk from the female detective. Sherlock was paying no attention to him at the moment.

“You’ll see soon enough.” She said. Sherlock turned to John and opened his mouth to answer when an elastic band snapped between his eyes and he froze turning to Jezebel with a frown.  “You can’t expect him to learn anything if you spoon feed him everything Sherlock.” She reprimanded and Sherlock paused for a moment longer, almost telling John anyway before sitting back in his seat and looking out the window as he sulked.

“That doesn’t answer my question. Where are we going.” John asked frustrated.

“Think about it John.” Was the only reply.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry for taking so long to post this chapter. Life just swept me off my feet for a while but I am now on summer break and will hopefully have more time to write now. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and please don't hesitate to comment. I don't bite :)


	3. Chapter 2: Where are we going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long chase and Jezebel meets Mycroft.

_“That doesn't answer my question. Where are we going.” John asked frustrated._

_“Think about it John.” Was the only reply._

John sat against the seat and frowned in thought as he looked out of the window. it was quiet in the car as the two detectives were distracted by their own thoughts. They almost seemed to be having a silent discussion through miniscule movements of fingers, twitching of eyes, and even blinks. It was five minutes later when John turned to the two.

“If you texted the murderer, what did you say?” John asked. A small grin spread over Jezebel’s lips.

“Now you’re asking the right questions.” Jezebel said as she broke eye contact with Sherlock to pull out her phone and hand it to John who then flipped through the text’s.  

“So we are going to this address?” John asked.

“Now was that so difficult?” She asked with a smirk.

“Yes.” Sherlock stated. It was silent for a heartbeat before Jezebel let out a small laugh and John frowned. Time passed as it does and John opened his mouth to ask another question. Unfortunately for his curiosity and comprehension they pulled up to the curb then.  Instantly the two detectives left the car and strode into a small diner, leaving John to pay the cabbie as always. Once John got inside the diner he was gestured to a small table in the corner that gave a perfect view of the street. The owner, who Sherlock had helped, brought out tea and set it on the table. Silently Jezebel looked at the tea in disgust, it was only her first day in London and she was sick of tea. Quietly she took her cup and sipped at the hot liquid, she was pleased to find it wasn't the sweet and milky substance that she had been ingesting all afternoon but rather a bitter black tea. Happily she sipped at the drink and thought that maybe drinking tea like this wouldn't be too bad.

As these thoughts went through Jezebel’s head John sweetened his tea to his tastes and also prepared Sherlock’s cup before they settled in, there wasn't much to do as they waited and none of the group were big on small talk. Honestly it wasn't a long wait before Sherlock noticed the cab that was stopped in front of the address and Jezebel noticed it a second later. Both of them were quickly out of their seats and John swore before following. The cab quickly took off and Jezebel and Sherlock both looked at each other.

“Right turn…” Jezebel started

“One way…” Sherlock said  

“Roadwork…” Jezebel pointed out

“Traffic light…” Sherlock again

“Bus lane…” The pattern repeated

“Pedestrian crossing…”

“Left turn only…”

“Traffic lights.” Sherlock finished. With the route figured out Sherlock and Jezebel looked around before Sherlock noticed  man unlocking a door. Immediately he started running in that direction, Jezebel a half second behind him and John bringing up the rear. Once at the door Sherlock grabed the poor man and threw him out of the way. The two detectives ran in without pause and John apologized as they sprinted in. They all raced up the stairs and out onto a metal spiral fire escape leading to the roof. Sherlock took the steps two or three at a time, Jezebel took them one at a time but kept pace easily with Sherlock, and John struggled to keep up with the two detectives as he scurried up behind them.

“Come on, John.” Sherlock commented as they rushed upwards. At the top of the stairs Sherlock rushed to the edge and looked over before spotting a shorter metal staircase leading down the side of the building to another door. Jezebel spotted it as well and the two of them darted down the stairs, climbed onto the railing, before they both leaped across the gap to the roof of the next building. John raced after them but skidded to a halt as he judged the size of the gap.

“Come on, John. We’re losing him!” Sherlock called. John looked at the gap again and decided that if Jezebel could do it so could he. He backed up a few paces before taking a run-up and leaping the gap. Landing on a walkway along the side of the building the group continued on. The taxi continued it journey on the ground and the group galloped down another metal staircase. They run to a ledge, drop down into an alleyway, and continue running. Sherlock and Jezebel take turns leading, almost like the two are racing each other as well as the taxi. They all turn a corner and race down the last part of the alley, only to spot the taxi drive past the end and head towards the left.

“No!” Jezebel huffed and without breaking stride both Sherlock and Jezebel turned to the right.

“This way,” Sherlock said and John turned left in pursuit of the taxi.

“No, this way!” The two detectives called and John did an about face.

“Sorry,” the doctor said as he began to follow them again. They all run down street, taking a shorter route than the taxi which was being diverted by various road signs. More alleys and side streets finally has them intercepting the cab. Jezebel threw herself in front of the cab and it screeched to a halt. Sherlock grabbed an I.D badge from his left pocket and flashed it at the driver as he ran to the right hand side of the cab before yanking the door open. The passenger looked up at him anxiously and Jezebel shoved Sherlock aside to look at the passenger herself.

“No,” Sherlock panted. Jezebel leaned down to get a closer look at the passenger.

“Teeth, tan: what - Californian?” She asked and Sherlock leaned over the small detective to look at the suitcase.

“L.A., Santa Monica. Just arrived.” Sherlock straightened up and grimaced as Jezebel frowned.

“How can you possibly know that?” John panted from behind them. Sherlock moved to the side as Jezebel paced away from the cab. As she looked around she caught the cabbies reflection in the mirror. A strange expression was on his face and Jezebel watched him curiously as Sherlock explained to John, let the doctor take a look, and dismissed the passenger. The door of the cab slammed shut and the cabbie finally looked away as the black vehicle began to move away. Jezebel blinked a few times as the frown deepened on her face. Sherlock was already walking away and Jezebel began to follow absent-mindedly.

“Basically just a cab that happened to slow down,” John asked as he followed Sherlock.

“Basically,” Jezebel answered.

“Wrong country, good alibi,” John asserted as they all came to a halt in a small circle.

“As they go,” Sherlock stated as he switched the I.D card from one hand to another.

“Hey, where did you get this,” John asked as he reached out and took the I.D card from Sherlock’s hand. Looking over the card he noticed the name. “Detective Inspector Lestrade?”

“Yeah. I pick-pocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that, I have plenty at the flat,” Sherlock answered and Jezebel let out a snort of amusement. Soon John was chuckling softly as well.

“What?” Sherlock asked, almost put-out he didn’t know what was amusing.

“Nothing, just: “Welcome to London,” John replied and Jezebel started giggling again as John continued to chuckle and even Sherlock began laughing quietly. Then John noticed the passenger talking to an actual cop and pointing in their direction.

“Got your breath back?” Sherlock asked and Jezebel grinned, a smile breaking over John’s face as well.

“Ready when you are,” The army doctor replied and they quickly sprinted back the way they came heading back towards 221B. Once at the flat Jezebel was the last to begin to remove her coat and shoes when John realized he had left his wallet at the small restaurant. Jezebel shrugged her coat back on and waved off John’s offer to just call Angelo.

“No, the air could do me good,”  she said before turning and heading back out of the flat. She didn’t get very far down the street before a phone in a nearby restaurant began to ring as she passed. Jezebel looked at it briefly but otherwise ignored it as she walked on. She passed by another business and the same thing happened. Curious she walked towards a phone booth and sure enough the phone began to ring. She quickly grabbed the ringing phone.

“Who is this?” She immediately asks. The person on the other end ignored her question.

“There is a security camera on the building to your left.” It was a man’s voice, he was likely mid thirties, white male, has mild arthritis in his right knee by the sound of the chair shifting beneath him. Jezebel turned to look at the camera and watched as it swiveled to point the opposite direction. The man went to speak but Jezebel beat him to it as she turned towards the next camera, it turned away as well. This pattern repeated until all of the cameras were facing away from her.

“What do you want?” she asked the man on the other end.

“Get into the car Ms. Blithe,” the voice replied before hanging up. As Jezebel hung up the phone a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. Jezebel looked around quickly before her curiosity got the best of her and she climbed into the car. It was a lavish vehicle, the seats were leather and there was a ridiculous amount of space for the passengers in the back. Sitting next to her on the leather seat was another woman who was quickly typing on a blackberry. Pausing for just a moment she decided that playing ignorant wouldn’t do her any good at the moment so she settled into the seat and smirked at the other woman.

“Am I allowed to know where we’re going?” Jezebel asked. The woman paused in her typing long enough to look at Jezebel and smile.

“No,” came the reply. Jezebel felt herself roll her eyes. It was so typical.

“Your name?” Jezebel asked.

“Anethea.” Jezebel nearly rolled her eyes again.

“That’s not your name.”

“No.”

“Your employer picked it out?”

“Yep.” Anthea popped the p sound and then silence fell upon the car.

“Your employer, a friend of Sherlock’s?” Jezebel inquired casually. Anthea shrugged.

“You could say that.”

“Enemies?”

“Somewhat.”

“Ah, siblings.” Jezebel concluded and Anethea shot her a grin before the rest of the ride was spent in companionable silence. When the car finally stopped Jezebel shot Anthea one last smile before stepping out of the rather luxurious car and towards the circle of light she could see coming from the middle of some crates. Of course it was an abandoned warehouse, the whole thing was just so typical, Jezebel thought to herself as she stepped into the light and looked at the man there.

“You know, I have a phone.” She said pulling the device from her pocket and showing it to him before tucking it away again in the pocket of her coat. She paced around the edge of the light and looked at the crates. “This is all well, good, and clever, very clever, but you could have just phoned.” She said as she moved to stand in front of the man and noted the chair. “Why don’t you take a seat, your arthritis must be bothering you, you’ve been on your leg for hours now.” She said with a smirk and watched the man’s smile broaden.

“When one is avoiding the attention of a Sherlock Holmes one learns to be discreet. Hence this place.” The man replied, ignoring her order to sit in favor of looking around smugly. “You don’t seem very afraid.” He commented turning back to Jezebel.

“You don’t seem frightening, please sit that leg really must be bothering you.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to sit.”

“Then perhaps you’re being foolish.” Jezebel snapped lightly as she resumed her pacing around the circle. The man watched her before glaring at her petite form and moving over to the chair gracefully lowering himself before ending up merely plopping into the seat. Jezebel smirked in response and moved to stand in front of him.

“What is your relationship to Sherlock Holmes.” The man asked her, Jezebel grinned.

“What’s yours?”

“That’s beside the point, we’re talking about your relationship with him.”

“Why do you care?”

“Who said I care.” The man huffed. Jezebel paused in her pacing and grinned.

“Obviously you care, you are his brother. Must be such a dreadful thing trying to keep track of him.” Jezebel commented offhandedly. The man shot her an annoyed look.

“Which is what I’m trying to do here, now what is your relationship to Sherlock Holmes.” The man ground out, quite fed up with her at this point. She was almost as bad as Sherlock. Jezebel moved close to the chair and looked down at him from her position, it was a slight height advantage but just enough to give the man a slight tremor and make him lean away slightly.

“Whatever I need it to be.” She replied quietly, her voice soft but sharp as a knife. Then she abruptly turned and went back to her pacing, the man flinched at the sudden action before standing in order to regain some semblance of control. Clearing his throat the man caught Jezebel's attention.

“I hear you’ve recently moved in to two-hundred twenty one baker street. I’d like to offer you a substantial amount of money to help ease your move.” He said confidently as Jezebel dropped into the chair he had so recently vacated.

“You want me to spy on him.”

“That’s a rather crude way of putting it. But yes, I want information about what he his doing.”

“You can’t do that with the bugs you have all over that flat?”

“Sherlock continues to take them down.”

“Have you ever considered thats a clue to bugger off?”

The man gave Jezebel a flat look which she returned with a sarcastic grin.

“Perhaps I’m worried.”

“You do care.”

“Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.” He hissed irritated from between his teeth.

“Bonds keep the world together, where would we be without the bond between two oxygen molecules.” Jezebel said easily as she stood gracefully and held out her hand. “The money.”

“You’ll do as I ask?”

“Of course, must help the concerned big brother, right?” She asked giving him a grin as she saw the barely there relaxing of his features as the worry faded away. A nice stack of bills was placed in her hand and Jezebel smirked before leaving. “Oh, and next time, pick a better revenue.” With that she was gone heading back to the car where Anthea was waiting behind the driver’s seat this time. Instead of taking the back as she was obviously supposed to, Jezebel opened the door to the passenger side and plopped herself in the seat there. Wordlessly Anthea handing her a small black bag which contained the wallet that John had left at the restaurant. “You’re not going to text the whole way while driving are you? I’m fairly certain that’s illegal,” Jezebel teased and Anthea flashed her another smile. The rest of the journey was spent in silence aside from the soft indie music playing through the sound system. Upon arriving at Baker street Jezebel got out of the car and headed up to the door, silently picking the lock and slipping inside. Mrs. Hudson still needed to have her key made.

Once upstairs in 221B she looked around at the scene in front of her. John was in his armrest, a forgotten cup of tea by his side as he watched some rubbish soap opera. Sherlock was on the couch, three nicotine patches on his arm as he puzzled over the case, his hands folded neatly over his lips and his eyes closed. Jezebel pulled the wallet from the bag and tossed it to John, who startled so badly he nearly fell out of the chair before pulling out half of the cash she had gotten from the man earlier and dropping it on Sherlock’s chest with a light thump.

“Compliments of your brother,” she said distractedly as she moved his feet to sit down.

“He ask you to spy on me,” came the deep reply from Sherlock.

“Yes.”

“You accepted.” John interceded looking almost offended. Jezebel grinned as Sherlock sat up.

“Of course, not accepting would have been stupid.” She replied.

“You’re brilliant, almost as brilliant as me.” Sherlock said, a certain degree of happiness in his voice. Jezebel grinned.

“No, you’re just getting close to me. Figured out who our murderer is yet?” She taunted, Sherlock looked at her confused. “I figured it out on the way home from visiting your brother. Who do we trust that we don’t know?” She asked Sherlock and moved to sit on the table in front of him. “Come on genius think, what do most people use everyday? Something we wouldn’t think twice about seeing?” She paused, watching as the gears turned in Sherlock’s head before he jumped up excitedly.

“We need to call Lestrade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not updating and I appreciate anyone who has actually read this. Here is the next chapter and I will have the next up as soon as possible. Thank you all!


	4. Chapter 3: What is it now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The murderer is found and the two detectives rush into danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this guys! Another chapter! I wanted to get this up to celebrate our wonderful Benedict Cumberbatch's birthday! So enjoy the chapter!

_“Who do we trust that we don’t know?” She asked Sherlock and moved to sit on the table in front of him. “Come on genius think, what do most people use everyday? Something we wouldn’t think twice about seeing?” She paused, watching as the gears turned in Sherlock’s head before he jumped up excitedly._

_“We need to call Lestrade.”_

Sherlock was the one to grab his phone first, dialing in the number he hit send before quickly throwing the phone to John. John fumbled for a moment as he caught it before lifting it to his ear. The flat was now a whirlwind of activity, the two detectives were moving around in perfect synchronization. When Sherlock went over to grab his coat he grabbed Jezebel’s and threw it to her while she was grabbing a few odds and ends. Easily she reached out and caught it as she tossed a few empty, plastic vials over her shoulder and Sherlock caught those.

“What is it now?” Lestrade’s voice came from the other end and John startled when he remembered that he was holding the phone. John watched the activity for a moment longer as he tried to figure out what to say.

“Ah, well Sherlock and Jezebel seem to have had a revelation though I’m not sure what.” John replied, almost bitterly as he was left out of the loop yet again. Jezebel swiped the phone and hit speaker, laying it on the table as she sat back on the sofa, Sherlock quickly following her. The flat became strangely still now that the two weren’t moving anymore and John quickly sat down as well.

“The killer, he’s a cabbie.” Sherlock spoke up.

“Did you ever find out who Rachel is?” Jezebel asked quickly, getting a hostile look from Sherlock. Jezebel didn’t even look at Sherlock when she grabbed a pressure point and shoved him to the floor. Sherlock sat on the floor stunned for a moment before he stood and haughtily tried to recover his dignity.

“Actually yes, she was Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.” Lestrade said.

“Perfect, now we need to find her, wait, was?” Sherlock said quickly before pausing and looking at Jezebel in confusion. Jezebel gave him the same confused look and looked down at the phone as John moved closer and sat next to Jezebel warily.

“She’s dead.” Lestrade’s voice sounded tired as he said this and Sherlock immediately lit up.

“Excellent is it connected?” A pad of paper hit Sherlock’s forehead and Jezebel gave him a disapproving look which Sherlock merely rolled his eyes at.

“No, she’s been dead for fourteen years. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter.”

Sherlock’s face fell just as Jezebel’s lit up.

“Rachel, oh she’s brilliant.” She exclaimed and grabbed John’s laptop from his desk. John almost went to protest before Jezebel gave him a look that had him settling back into his seat.

“What do you mean Rachel?” Lestrade’s confused voice came through the speaker, it sounded as though he was about to question further when Sherlock interrupted, the same conclusion coming to him merely seconds after Jezebel.

“Lestrade, there should be an email on the tag of the case.” Sherlock said and moved over to the couch, shoving it’s current occupants over to make room for himself. Plastic crinkled over the phone as Lestrade shifted the case before reading out the email. Jezebel’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed it in.

“Wait, we don’t have the password.” John said as he watched the screen realizing what they were doing.

“Yes we do.” Jezebel said confidently typing in the password. “Rachel.”

The screen displayed a loading sign only for a moment before opening up to her homepage.

“Great you can read her emails.” Lestrade said sarcastically.

“She didn’t have a laptop, she did all her work from her phone--” Jezebel began

“Meaning it’s a smartphone--” Sherlock continued

“So it has gps.” They finished together. They shot each other a look before Jezebel rolled her eyes and clicked on the locate my phone. Once there Jezebel looked at it confused before clicking refresh and blinking at it again. When the screen didn’t change she rushed over to the window.

“Sherlock.” She said quietly.

“What is it? Where is it?” Sherlock asked as he went for the computer.

“It’s here.” Jezebel replied and at that Lestrade started swearing.

“Listen you two stay put, don’t do anything rash--” Lestrade’s rant wasn’t finished when the two were down the stairs and heading out the front door. By the time John had picked up the phone and went to follow they were in the back seat and the cab had taken off.

“Dammit!” John yelled in frustration and began to explain to Lestrade.

In the back of the cab it was silent, Jezebel and Sherlock sitting as far from each other as possible as the cabbie drove them around London. The tension all but crackled in the vehicle.

“How did you find me?” Sherlock asked the driver.

“Oh, I recognised yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock ’olmes! I was warned about you. I’ve been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!” The cabbie replied. “Didn’t recognise yer friend ‘ough.” Jezebel grinned silently and continued to look out the window.

“She’s not important.” Sherlock said. Jezebel’s grin fell and was quickly replaced by annoyance. “Who warned you about me?”

“You’ve got yourself a fan Mr. ‘olmes.” Was the only reply from the cabbie. Silence descended on the group again and the two in the back watched the world outside go by. Eventually they pulled up to Ronald Kurr Further Education College. The cabbie got out and opened the back driver's side door for Jezebel. She stepped out and looked at the college, listening as Sherlock got out on his side.

“Why here?” Jezebel asked. The cabbie shrugged.

“It’s open; cleaners are in. Good thing about being a cabbie; you always know a good quiet spot for a murder. Surprised more of us don’t branch out.” He answered.

“How do you get them in the building. Just walk them in?” Sherlock asked and the cabbie shook his head.

“I use this.” The cabbie pulled out a gun and placed it against Jezebel’s temple.

“Hm boring.” Jezebel said quietly and the cabbie grinned.

“It gets better. I don’t need this with you, you’ll follow me.” He said and lowered the weapon to place it back in his jacket. The cabbie quickly turned on his heel and purposely walked into the building. Jezebel and Sherlock paused only a moment before sighing and moving to head into the building. Once they arrived at the steps however, Jezebel quickly stuck her foot out and tripped Sherlock. As the taller man sprawled on the ground Jezebel smirked down at him.

“You should watch where you’re going. Seems important.” She verbally jabbed and headed into the building leaving Sherlock to scramble up on his own. The taller detective quickly followed her in, easily catching up due to his longer strides, before falling into step next to her. They walked in silence following the sound of the cabbie’s footsteps until they ended up inside a large classroom. Solid looking wood tables were bolted to the floor with plastic uncomfortable looking chairs. On the board were the notes from that days lesson, so the cleaners hadn’t come to this room yet then. The two detectives looked at each other.

“Well what do you think?” The cabbie asked. Sherlock turned to him drawing his attention as Jezebel continued to pace around the room.

“Think about what?” Sherlock asked, keeping the cabbie’s attention. Jezebel slithered up behind the cabbie and just barely brushed her hand over his pocket, easily snatching the pill bottles that had been sitting there.

“Your the one who’s going to die here.”

“No I’m not.”

“That’s what they all say.” The cabbie pulled out a chair and sat down. “Now, shall we talk?”

Jezebel headed over to the window and inspected the bottles which she had taken from the cabbie before moving to sit with Sherlock across from the cabbie.

“It’s a little risky bringing both of us here.” Jezebel said confidently as she leaned back in the chair the cabbie scoffed.

“You think that’s a risk? This is a risk.” The cabbie went to reach into his pocket and felt around for a moment before a confused look crossed his face. He reached into the other pocket. Jezebel cracked a grin and, reaching into her own pocket, removed the three bottle.

“Two of these bottle hold the poison, right?” She asked with a grin as she picked up a random bottle. “Can you tell which one is the fake?”

The cabbie sat there stunned into silence before shaking his head. “No, they’re identical.”

Sherlock grinned and the two detectives leaned forward. “Do you still want to play the game?” He asked lowly.

“Enough talk, let’s play.” The cabbie said quickly, grabbing one of the bottles randomly.

“Oh we are playing--” Jezebel began.

“This is our move--”Sherlock continued.

“You have shaving cream behind your ear.”

“There are traces from where it’s happened before.”

“No one is there to tell you--”

“So you live alone.”

“Yet there is a picture of children in your cab.”

“The mother’s been cut out, if she died she’d still be there.”

“The photo is old--”

“But the frame is new.”

“You think of them often.”

“But you don’t get to see them.”

“What a shame.” Jezebel interrupted with a quiet click of her tongue. “She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts, must be awful.” Despite her mocking words there was a flash of something in her eyes, true sympathy. Sherlock was far too busy to notice and the cabbie was too nervous so the moment passed with none the wiser.

“And yet there’s more your clothes--”

“They’re recently laundered”

“But everything you’re wearing is at least…” Sherlock paused and the two looked at the cabbie for a moment.

“Three years old.” The said together.

“You’re keeping up appearances--” Sherlock started.

“But you’re not planning ahead.” Jezebel finished and they both sat back.

“Here you are on a kamikaze killing spree.”

“Why?” Jezebel asked rhetorically. The cabbie’s reaction was instantaneous, his face, which had been slack and mildly confused, smoothed out and went black. The two stared at him for a moment before a collective lightbulb went off.

“Three years ago is when they told you.” Sherlock said softly.

“Told me what?” The cabbie asked.

“That you’re a dead man walking.” Jezebel finished just as quietly.

“You don’t have long do you?” Sherlock asked. The cabbie looked between the two of them before a small, bitter smile crept across his face. He hung his head for a brief moment before looking at the two detectives again.

“Aneurysm, right ‘ere.” The cabbie said and tapped lightly at his temple. “any breath could be my last.”

“And because you’re dying, you’ve just murdered four people.” Sherlock concluded.

“I’ve _outlived_ four people. That’s the most fun you can ’ave on an aneurism.” The cabbie responded.

“There must be something else. You didn’t just kill four people because you’re bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about-”

“You _are_ good, ain’t you?” The cabbie asked.

“But _how_?” Sherlock insisted.

“When I die, they won’t get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs.” The cabbie responded.

“Or serial killing.” Jezebel commented sarcastically.

“You’d be surprised.” The cabbie said with a grin.

“Surprise us.” Jezebel and Sherlock said at the same time.

“I ‘ave a sponsor.” The cabbie replied. Shock appeared on Sherlock’s face while Jezebel’s eyes narrowed, she had a vague idea of where this was going.

“A what?” Sherlock asked.

“Very eloquent.” Jezebel muttered sarcastically.

“For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they’ll be. You see? It’s nicer than you think.” The cabbie replied.

“Who’d sponsor a serial killer?” Jezebel beat Sherlock to the question.

“Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ’olmes?” The cabbie asked. Silence descended on the room as the detectives watched the cabbie. ”You’re not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There’s others out there just like you, but you’re just a man ... and they’re so much more than that.”

The two detectives frowned in distaste.

“What d’you mean, more than a man?” Sherlock asked.

“There’s a name no-one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter. Time to choose.” The cabbie was quick to pull the bottles close to him and inspect them quickly. Sherlock was busy puzzling over what the cabbie said so he didn’t notice the slight shift in the cabbie’s face when he identified the ‘safe’ pill, but Jezebel did. The cabbie placed the bottles in a straight line down the middle of the table but Jezebel had seen what the cabbie knew. The bottle with the ‘safe’ pill looked brand new, aside from a few fingerprints on it. The bottles with the poisons inside them were scuffed from the previous victims who had likely taken the poison then dropped the bottles or scratched the glass against a table, the floor. or anything really.

“What if we don’t choose?” She suddenly asked. Sherlock’s attention turned to her, as did the cabbies. “We could just walk out.”

The cabbie let out a disappointed sigh as he pulled out the gun again.

“You can take the chance of guessing correctly, or I can shoot you.” He answered. Jezebel looked at the gun pointed between her eyes. She turned her head slightly to look at Sherlock and raised a brow at him. Sherlock responded with a barely noticeable nod, he had seen what she had. Jezebel turned back to the cabbie and grinned.

“We’ll take the gun.” She said confidently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one really isn't much different from the original. I may do just minor editing now so I can get to posting the new-new stuff faster... Anyway I'll see you all soon.


	5. Chapter 4: Moriarty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jezebel find out the man behind the murders.

_“You can take the chance of guessing correctly, or I can shoot you.” He answered. Jezebel looked at the gun pointed between her eyes. She turned her head slightly to look at Sherlock and raised a brow at him. Sherlock responded with a barely noticeable nod. Jezebel turned back to the cabbie and grinned._

_“We’ll take the gun.” She said confidently._

_“Are you sure?” the cabbie asked._

_“Definitely, the gun,” Jezebel replied without hesitation._

“You don’t want to phone a friend?” The cabbie was clearly hesitant. To the untrained eye it could have been nerves, but this man had already killed four people, why would be be hesitant about a fifth or sixth?

“The gun,” Sherlock answered firmly. His voice left no further room for negotiation. The tension in the air was palpable as the two detectives sat there, smirking. Slowly, the cabbie began to apply pressure on the trigger of the gun, and there was a moment's breath, a small click, and a small flame jumped from the end of the barrel only to flicker harmlessly there.

“Did you honestly think that would work?” Jezebel asked with a grin as she began to stand from her chair.

“I know a real gun when I see one,” Sherlock stated confidently as he stood as well. The lighter was lifted and the trigger released.

“None of the others noticed,” The cabbie said quietly once the flame had been extinguished.

“Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting.” Jezebel began to move towards the door, Sherlock right beside her as she did so.

“I look forward to the court case,” Sherlock commented offhandedly. Just then the cabbie’s hand shot out and wrapped around Jezebel’s wrist. Jezebel glanced down at her wrist before slowly moving to look at the cabbie, a single brow raised.

“Did you figure out which was the safe bottle?”

“Of course. Child’s play,” Sherlock bluffed. He hadn’t had the time to exam the bottles like Jezebel had.

“Well, which one is it then?” the cabbie asked. Jezebel rolled her eyes and reached over the table to grab the less scuffed bottle to hold it up in front of the cabbie. “Willing to try it?” the cabbie asked as he chose a bottle and pulled out the stopper. Jezebel turned to Sherlock where he merely gave her a blank look. Barely refraining from rolling her eyes again Jezebel pulled the stopper out of the bottle in her hand and dumped the pill into her hand. The cabbie did the same.

“Now here’s the fun part. Give the pill to Mr. Holmes,” The cabbie demanded. Jezebel paused for a moment and turned to Sherlock. The two of them shared a look before Sherlock gave a small nod and took the pill from the palm of Jezebel’s hand. “Shall we take our medicine?” The cabbie asked. Sherlock gave him an annoyed glance before holding the pill up to the light and looking at it carefully. As Sherlock did this Jezebel caught motion out of the corner of her eye. Subtly she looked and found John standing in the window of the building opposite them. A questioning look was on his face and Jezebel mouthed words at him, so subtly that they were almost invisible. John, however, understood and drew his gun.

Slowly Sherlock lifted the pill to his mouth, the cabbie did the same. There was a moment of tension as the pill touched their lips before a bullet suddenly ripped through the cabbie’s shoulder. The gunshot echoed around the classroom. Despite the loud noise, all of the inhabitants of the room were shocked into silence. The cabbie suddenly cried out in pain as he crumpled to the floor, and the moment was broken. Sherlock, who hadn’t seen John, jumped into action as he rushed over to the window to try and see where the shot had come from. Jezebel instead turned to the cabbie.

“Tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? I want a name,” Jezebel said as she stood over the dying man. The cabbie shook his head barely.

“No.” The reply was weak.

“You’re dying, but there’s still time to hurt you. Give us a name,” Sherlock said as he came over and stood on the other side from Jezebel. The cabbie shook his head again and Jezebel rolled her eyes before placing her foot on his wounded shoulder. The cabbie whimpered slightly in pain.

“A name,” Jezebel repeated and pressed lightly onto his shoulder. The cabbie cried out in pain. “Now,” Jezebel hissed angrily. Still the cabbie only whimpered in pain. Jezebel’s face reflected intentness and Sherlock stood by watching with a blank face before heading to the window to notice the cop cars coming nearer.

“Jezebel, we’ll need to hurry,” he commented.

Jezebel leaned her weight forward onto his shoulder.

“The NAME!”she yelled at the cabbie.

“MORIARTY!” was the agonised reply before the cabbie’s head rolled to the side and his last breath escaped his lips. Sherlock looked at his reflection in the mirror and silently mouthed: Moriarty. Jezebel froze for a second before tearing away from the body at her feet.

“Of course,” she muttered as she paced away, her face stormy. “Moriarty, I should have known.” She moved over to Sherlock and began to drag him from the room. As they were in the hallway Sherlock pulled his arm from her grip and paused.

“What has gotten into you?” he asked looking at her oddly.

“Moriarty, that’s what,” she huffed and turned to face him. Looking at his blank face she paused confused. “You don’t know Moriarty.” It was a fact, not a question. Sherlock, not wanting to admit to something unknown to him, stayed silent. Jezebel looked at him for a moment longer before she began to move down the hall.

“What were you two thinking, running off with the murderer! What happened to him?” Lestrade yelled over the sirens. Jezebel completely ignored the detective inspector, instead she headed down the road to confront the sleek black car there. After knocking on the window the well-dressed man emerged from the vehicle.

“Moriarty, know the name?” Jezebel asked flatly. The man in front of her looked at her silently for a moment before replying.

“No, it’s not familiar.”

“Why is it that neither you nor your brother know anything about one of, if not the most important threat to the United Kingdom?” Jezebel huffed and she spun putting her back to the man as she surveyed the school in front of her. She was silent as she thought for several minutes before turning to face the man again. “Moriarty is a very clear and present danger,” Jezebel said. The man opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off with a hand. “No, you can’t look at the individual events. Moriarty has his fingers in many different pies. Things you wouldn’t think he would be involved in are really his doing.” Jezebel crossed her arms over her chest with her thumbnail between her teeth. The man paused, the wheels in his, honestly brilliant, mind whirling as he took in this information. He went to ask how she knew this but paused.

“We’ll look into it,” he assured her. Jezebel gave him a small nod and he reached into his inside pocket. He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. Jezebel went to grab it but paused and wiped her hand off on her pant leg with a sheepish look before taking the card from him. On the card it merely read Mycroft Holmes with a phone number underneath it. Jezebel pocketed the card and turned to head back toward the crime scene. On the way she paused and checked her watch; she hadn’t reset it. Pausing in the middle of the street Jezebel messed with the knobs on her watch until the time was finally correct. She looked where Sherlock and John were fighting with Lestrade and merely turned on her heel. She would take her own cab back to 221B, she needed the time to think. Once Sh was in the cab Mycroft turned to Anthea.

“We need to upgrade her surveillance status. Grade three.” He said calmly.

“Sorry sir, who?”

**“Jezebel Blithe.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, Jezebel knows Moriarty? How? Give me your best guess in the comments and if someone get's close enough I will send them a short scene I have pre-written for season 3!


	6. Chapter 5: Domestic Bliss

The ride across London was rather uneventful for the red headed detective. Honestly it was good that nothing really disturbed her because if it had she likely would have ripped whatever, or whoever to shreds. Her thoughts raced around her head as she watched the city go by. Slowly she felt a pressure begin to rise between her temples signalling she was thinking too much. As the pain built in her head Jezebel placed her forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched the city go by. At some point during the ride the sky opened up and rain poured down onto the ground in waves. The noise of the rain was calming but painful to the detective until finally the cab stopped. A light was on upstairs in B and Jezebel knew that Sherlock and John must have beaten her home. Jezebel tightened her coat around her body before throwing a few bills at the cabbie and exiting the cab into the pouring rain. It took only two seconds for Jezebel’s coat to become soaked and in the two minutes it took for her to get to the door and pick the lock to 221 she was soaked to the bone. On her way into the foyer her head was aching awfully, her left arm began to get pins and needles, and she was having trouble thinking. Slowly she began to move up the stairs, she was forced to focus on each step to be sure that she didn’t fall. Finally she reached the top of the stairs and began to take off her wet coat. After taking five tries to get the coat on the rack she gave up and dropped the coat to the floor. There she began to take off her shoes. Losing her balance she began to fall and she hit the floor with a loud thump. John and Sherlock were soon there helping her up. John picked up her light form and laid her out on the couch before untying and removing her shoes for her.

“Jezebel, what happened?” Sherlock was asking from a crouched position next to her. Jezebel merely blinked as the wheels in her mind spun slowly.

“It’s raining,” she said quietly as a shiver went through her body. Sherlock watched her in confusion before glancing out the window.

“What about the rain?”

“It’s cold,” Jezebel moaned in pain as she tried to roll away from Sherlock and the light that was hurting her head only to find her left arm was completely numb. “I can’t feel my arm.” Sherlock watched her before turning to John. John merely shrugged.

“Jezebel, what’s wrong?” Sherlock coaxed uncharacteristically gentle.

“My head, and my arm it’s numb, I can’t -” Jezebel paused and closed her eyes with a frown. “I can’t, can’t-” Her eyes opened again and she hit the couch with her hand.

“Think?” John offered.

“Think, I can’t think,” Jezebel declared loudly before whimpering at the pain in her head. Sherlock mind was buzzing as he mentally went through the symptoms before a look of comprehension crossed his face.

“Jezebel, do you have Multiple Sclerosis?” he asked quietly as he pushed the hair out of her face. Jezebel nodded. Sherlock moved to cradle her head and behind her knees as he carefully lifted her off the couch. Water dripped from her damp clothes as Sherlock carried her back into the bathroom. Once there John began to run her a warm bath and Sherlock headed into his bedroom to grab her some dry clothes. Jezebel blinked wearily from where she was sat on the counter and watched John fill the tub.

“I’m fine, the-” she paused.

“Symptoms,” John filled in.

“They’ll go away,” Jezebel told him. John turned to look at her.

“Do you have your medication with you?” he asked simply. Jezebel paused long enough for John to turn off the water.

“No, I was going to fill it-”

“When you got here. What is it you take?”

“Betaseron, you can’t shake it or-”

“It loses it’s effectiveness.”

“Stop that,” Jezebel said with a small smile. “It’s bizarre when you do it.” John gave her a small smile and turned off the water in the tub. He checked the temperature to be sure it wasn’t too warm, it would do her no good if the heat sent her body into shock, before he stood and looked at Jezebel.

“Do you-” he trailed off giving her a questioning look.

“No I think I can get it,” she said as she slowly moved off the counter.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” he said and moved out the door shutting it quietly behind him. Jezebel’s head felt as though it was full of cotton and the world became fuzzy as she slowly shed her cold, wet clothes before falling into the tub. The water splashed around her and some even escaped it’s porcelain container to spill on the floor.

“Are you ok?” John’s voice came muffled through the door.

“I’m fine,” Jezebel called back as she rested her head on the edge of the tub doing nothing but watching the water swirl and ripple around her.  She had only just closed her eyes when the bathroom door was opened and Sherlock came in with a change of clothes. Jezebel looked up at him from her position tiredly and eyed the pile of clothes.

“There are clothes in a box downstairs,” she told him.

“This was easier,” Sherlock said as he set the clothes on the counter. He then turned to face her, his eyes never straying from her face. “Do you need anything?” He asked her. Jezebel flushed lightly and mumbled something. “Say again?”

“I’m having trouble moving my left arm-” She trailed off. Sherlock paused for a moment before nodding.

“Of course,” he said as he began rolling up his sleeves. He folded a towel and kneeled down on it before reaching over her for the soap and a flannel. Jezebel blushed furiously as Sherlock hands started with lathering the soap on her shoulders. Sherlock remained passive throughout the task, but his hands were gentle as he ran the flannel over her skin. The flesh beneath his fingers was soft and yet when he reached the skin on her thighs he paused. There was ridges under his fingers, scars left from what must have been a kitchen knife. Jezebel, who had become relaxed under his gentle touches, quickly stiffened and her eye snapped open to meet his gaze. They shared a moment where Sherlock gave her an indescribable look before he continued on with his task, taking note of each scar and track mark. When the last bit of soap had been rinsed from her body and her skin was rosy with warmth Sherlock pulled the plug and let the water begin to dry out as he gently wrapped a towel around Jezebel. Jezebel sat on the edge of the tub as Sherlock grabbed another towel and began to dry her hair.

“Where’s John?” She asked quietly.

“Out getting your medication,” Sherlock replied as he grabbed a comb and began to work it through her hair. It was silent for a moment.

“Why are you being so kind?” came the hesitant question. There was no reply as Sherlock finished with her hair. Jezebel’s strength was returning now and the pins and needles were beginning to fade. Sherlock grabbed the pile of clothes and went to help her get into them but Jezebel stopped him.

“You’ve done enough, I can do this much,” she insisted. There was a small debate before Sherlock simply turned his back. Jezebel let out an annoyed huff as she began to pull on the clothes he had brought her. The clothes hung off her small frame and made her look even smaller than she actually was. The silk black pajama pants hung what must have been a full foot past her toes, the gray a-frame undershirt fell to mid-thigh almost knee level, and a single shoulder strap continued to fall off her shoulder.

“I guess this is what I get for only being 5’1”” She said with a small grin. Sherlock took the damp towel and threw it in the hamper before they walked out to the living room. Jezebel insisted on walking by herself and despite her telling him repeatedly that she was feeling better he hovered like a mother hen to be sure she didn’t fall. Granted his hovering was warranted since she did lose her balance three different times on the way to the couch, but it still annoyed Jezebel, who was fiercely independent, to no end. Sherlock went into the kitchen before coming back out with two cups of tea. They sat together in silence as they waited on John.

After ten or so minutes of waiting the front door opened and John squelched up the stairs. After removing his coat John came to sit beside Jezebel to open up the packaging. Jezebel watched as John checked the vial to be sure it wasn’t damaged before attaching the pre-filled syringe containing the diluent to the vial and injecting exactly 1.2 ml of the diluent into the container. He took a few minutes to gently swirl the vial and make sure it had all dissolved before turning to Jezebel.

“How much do you take?” he asked.

“Full dose, 25cc,” she replied. John prepped the syringe with the correct dosage, wiped the skin of her upper arm with an alcohol wipe, before injecting the dose just under the skin of her arm. Then he disposed of the vial and syringe in a special container that they only had because John lived there and Sherlock was a mad scientist. Once the needle left her arm Jezebel relaxed slightly into her seat and closed her eyes. John got up to make himself a cup of tea and it was peaceful as they all went about their various tasks. John was typing away at his computer, Sherlock was playing by the window, and Jezebel simply sat and watched as the fire crackled. Eventually Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs and knocked lightly on the door frame.

“Oh hello dears, I was just wanting to speak with Jezebel about where she would be sleeping tonight. I’m afraid I haven’t gotten any furniture to go in C yet and there’s no room in my flat at the moment either.” She said before covering her mouth with a hand as she yawned softly. “I just wanted to make sure something was worked out before going to bed.”

Jezebel looked up at Mrs. Hudson from her position on the couch before simply laying down and curling the too large robe around herself.

“Don’t worry Mrs. Hudson, I’ll just curl up here,” Jezebel replied. A shrill note sounded from Sherlock’s violin and he put it down to look at Jezebel.

“Absolutely not, you’ll sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.” Sherlock asserted.

“No, I’ll sleep here, on the couch.” Jezebel reaffirmed. Sherlock moved to stand in front of her on the couch.

“You will sleep in my bed. You just had what was obviously a relapse of your symptoms. You are still weak and with your illness you are more prone to changes in temperature. For your own sake, I will take the couch.” Sherlock lectured and Jezebel merely rolled her eyes.

“Give me plenty of blankets and pillows and I will be just fine here. Plus you are far too tall to fit on this couch comfortably.”

“I can fit on the couch!” Sherlock cried in indignation. Mrs. Hudson took one look at the scene, shook her head, said goodnight to John, and headed downstairs to her bed. Meanwhile John slipped into his bedroom to head to bed as well. The two detectives stared each other down.

“Multiple sclerosis is nothing to be ashamed of Jezebel. Take care of yourself, let me sleep on the couch.”

“A night on the couch isn’t going to kill me.”

“No it will just aggravate your symptoms.”

The tension was thick enough that it could be cut with a knife as Jezebel looked up at Sherlock from her position. Slowly Sherlock lowered himself to her level and pushed a strand of bright red hair from her face. The tension drained from Jezebel’s body and she nodded.

“Fine, but you won’t be sleeping on the couch. We can share the bed.” Jezebel stated. Sherlock began to speak and Jezebel turned her back on him. Sherlock bent down and picked Jezebel up bridal style.

“What are you doing, put me down!” Jezebel said as she kicked her feet and flailed around as much as she could. She paused for a moment before flipping herself over his arm and landed sitting on the couch before curling back up.

“Is it really so difficult as to accept something offered to you?” He asked her incredibly frustrated.

“You tell me.” She shot back and Sherlock gave her a glare before turning himself, grabbing a few spare blankets, and curling up on the floor beside the couch. Jezebel rolled over and looked down at him from the couch.

“Tell me you don’t actually plan to sleep there,” she said with a small grin on her face.

“I’ll stay right here until you agree to go back to bed.”

Jezebel gave him an annoyed huff before nodding.

“Alright.”

“Good,” Sherlock said as he quickly hopped up and picked her up again before carrying her back to his room and placing her on the black sheets. He turned to head back to the living room and Jezebel’s hand shot out to grab the waistband of his pants.

“If I’m going to sleep here you are too, the bed is big enough to share.” They had heated glaring contest before Sherlock deflated somewhat and silently moved around to the other side of the bed. Jezebel pulled the robe from her shoulders to sleep in just the tank top and pajama pants. As she curled up underneath the white sheets and fluffy comforter she caught a glance of Sherlock pulling off his shirt and rolled her eyes as she turned her back to him. Shortly after she felt the bed dip as Sherlock laid down on the other side and she moved closer to the edge of the bed, Sherlock doing the same until the both of them were nearly falling off the edge on the bed and onto the cold floor below. Between them lay a cold, desolate no man’s land, pitted with fears, doubts, and concerns. The flat was soon quiet, only the sounds of the building shifting and John’s occasional snore could be heard. Despite the peace Sherlock and Jezebel lay awake, staring at their respective walls, both minds buzzing at a mile a minute. Jezebel knew perfectly well why she wasn’t able to get to sleep, though she loathed to admit it, she needed something to hold. Something to ground her to the moment instead of allowing her thoughts to run rapid. Little did she know that on the other side of the bed Sherlock was struggling for the same thing. His thoughts raced and he had no way to ground them, he also knew human contact would do the job. When he was much younger he would go to Mycroft. Of course that stopped shortly after he hit puberty, but those were the best nights because he had actually been able to sleep properly. Minutes passed before Jezebel rolled onto her back and looked over to Sherlock.

“Sherlock.” She called quietly, the man rolled onto his side, facing her as she shifted to mirror him. Silently they looked at each other, both knowing that the other was struggling to hold onto reality as well. Hesitantly Jezebel stretched out a hand, laying it in the middle of the no man’s land between them. Sherlock merely looked at it and Jezebel sighed, preparing to roll back over and face a night of sleeplessness when a warm and much larger hand gently wrapped around her small one. Jezebel looked at Sherlock in surprise and smiled. They laid like that for several moments, the silence more comfortable now. Their eyes locked and without a thought they came together in the middle of the bed, Sherlock’s arms wrapped around Jezebel’s waist and he rested his head on the top of hers, her red curls pressed into his cheek gently. Jezebel’s arms found their way around his neck loosely, resting more across the top of his shoulders as she buried her face in his chest. The two stayed like this and soon both of their breathing evened out and they fell asleep, anchored to reality through the comfortable sound of the others heartbeat and breathing.

In the morning everything was normal. John woke up, headed to the kitchen, boiled the tea, then sat with his paper in front of the telly. It became peculiar when Sherlock didn’t wake up at his normal time. Precisely at 8 am everyday they didn’t have a case Sherlock would walk out of him room searching for his tea. But as the clock crept past 8:15 John supposed that Sherlock was finally getting the sleep he needed and continued on with his morning ritual. John finished his tea, washed and put away the cup, headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth, comb his hair, shave, and shower. It was when all of this was done and John noted it was 9 am and Sherlock still wasn’t awake that John began to worry. John padded lightly down the hallway and knocked gently on the door, getting no response he knocked a bit harder, still no response. Gently John turned the handle and opened the door.

“Sherlock?” He called out questioningly before pausing in the doorway at the sight in front of him. There in the middle of the large bed where Sherlock and Jezebel wrapped tightly around each other. Jezebel was laying mostly on top of Sherlock, her head resting on his chest, one arm rested on his his shoulder while the other rested alongside his head. Sherlock’s head was pillowed on the arm next to him, the small hand cupping his face gently and his own arms were wrapped tightly around Jezebel’s waist. Both detectives looked so peaceful in their sleep the John gently closed the door and headed back into the living room.

Hours passed and John went out to the store, had a row with the checkout machine, put away to groceries he finally got, and cleaned the kitchen up. He was in the process of preparing lunch when the door to Sherlock’s room creaked slightly and two pairs of footsteps came down the hall.  Jezebel came out, wrapped in the comforter from Sherlock’s bed and Sherlock was tying her robe while carrying the excess of the comforter that was far too large of Jezebel by herself. After Jezebel had sat herself in a chair at the table Sherlock draped the rest of the comforter around her before taking his own seat at the table. The two were quite a pair at the moment. Sherlock’s hair was even wilder than usual and his face slightly scraggly as he hadn’t shaved yet. Jezebel was in no better condition, but somehow the two looked so debauched that John actually wondered if they shagged before shaking his head. He knew that they hadn’t because Sherlock just isn’t interested in people like that. As for Jezebel, well, John wasn’t sure but she seemed fairly similar to Sherlock so far and therefore she wouldn’t look at people that way either.

Finally lunch was ready and John placed the food on the table, watching to make sure the two detectives ate something instead of just sitting there thinking, before he grabbed his own plate and tucked in. The flat stayed quiet aside from the sound of utensils scraping plates and soon John stood, washing the dishes and putting them away.

“You seem well suited for domestic bliss, John.” Jezebel said with a small smirk before standing and heading towards the living room. Sherlock stood and began to follow, catching her when she tripped over the edge of the blanket. Jezebel huffed quietly but allowed him to help her get situated in front of the telly before Sherlock sat next to her. John headed into the living room as well and sat down in his armchair silently hoping the peace would last a while.


	7. Chapter 6: William Sherlock Scott Holmes!

It seemed that John had gotten his wish. London was as peaceful as it could be, there were barely any petty crimes at this point. Sherlock and Jezebel were quickly becoming restless with so little to occupy their time. When barely a four fell into their laps they were desperate enough to take it, which is why they were now sitting in a freezing cell listening to a prisoner talk. This was their four.   
“Just tell us what happened from the beginning.” Sherlock said, already bored. Jezebel sat on one of the cold metal chairs next to him wrapped tightly in her jacket, with another larger coat borrowed from Sherlock, and a thick blanket taken from John’s bed. After Jezebel’s previous attack due to the cold Sherlock, suddenly acting as a mother hen, was not willing to take any other chances with Jezebel in the cold. He had originally wanted her to stay at home but Jezebel had insisted on coming with him. The man sitting across from them was wearing only a single layer and Jezebel shivered simply looking at him. She had no idea how he was able to stand such bitter cold.   
“We’d been to a bar – a nice place – and, er, I got chattin’ with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren’t ’appy with that, so ... when we get back to the ’otel, we end up havin’ a bit of a ding-dong, don’t we?” Berwick, the prisoner, replied. “She was always gettin’ at me, sayin’ I weren’t a real man.”  
Jezebel closed her eyes and let out a sigh.   
“Wasn’t a real man.” Sherlock corrected. Berwick looked at him surprised.  
“What?” Was the ever eloquent reply.  
“It’s not “weren’t”; it’s “wasn’t.”   
“Oh.”  
“Continue.” Jezebel interrupted, she was beginning to feel the cold seep through the layers of cloth surrounding her.  
“Well, then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there’s a knife in my hands. And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives.” Berwick said and both detectives’ eyes darted to his hands for a moment. “He learned us how to cut up a beast.”  
“Taught.”  
“What?” Berwick asked, his voice clearly holding the beginnings of anger.   
“Taught you how to cut up a beast,” Sherlock continued.   
Jezebel rolled her eyes as she pulled her legs up and curled them underneath her on the chair.   
“Sherlock,” Jezebel said quietly as she shiver wracked her body.   
“Your the one who wanted to come along,” he said before glancing over at her. She shivered again and he let out a small sigh. “We’ll be done soon.”  
Jezebel sighed and curled herself into a small ball, wrapping the blankets tighter around her as she shivered. The pins and needles were beginning in her left arm when Sherlock reached over and pulled her closer to him with a loud squealing. He pulled the gloves from his hand and placed them over her already gloved ones before pulling her close to his side. His arm found it’s way around her waist and Jezebel rested her head against his collarbone. Her cold ear pressed against the small bare slip of skin at the base of his throat and Sherlock jumped slightly at the touch. Jezebel let out a small laugh as Sherlock adjusted himself to become more comfortable. Berwick watched them in confusion before Sherlock gestured for him to continue.   
“Yeah, right, well then I done it.”   
“Did it.” Jezebel quipped.  
“Did it,” Berwick slammed his fist into the table. “Stabbed her over and over.”  
Jezebel didn’t even look at him as Sherlock rolled his eyes at the display.  
“Not worth it,” she murmured.   
“I know,” came the reply. Berwick hadn’t notice the interaction and continued.  
“And when I looked down she weren’t…” Sherlock blew out a loud breath as Jezebel shivered. Sherlock leaned down to check on her before pulling her closer. “Wasn’t moving no more.” Sherlock looked at him annoyed. “Anymore.” Berwick corrected himself.  
“Look at that, you can teach an old dog new tricks.” Jezebel said before uncurling and heading towards the door. Sherlock quickly followed making her pause so he could re-adjust the jackets and blanket wrapped around her when Berwick became frantic.  
“You’ve gotta help me Mr. Holmes!” Sherlock turned to look at him and, seeing that he had Sherlock’s attention for a moment, continued. “You’re the best. Without you, I’ll get hung for this.”  
Jezebel had begun to walk out of the room and Sherlock followed before pausing at the door.  
“No, no, no, no Mr. Berwick, not at all.” He paused for a second before grinning. “Hanged, yes.” There was a long, and chilly journey back to London and 221B before finally Jezebel was settled down on the floor, wrapped in a pile of blankets by the fire, and enjoying a nice warm cup of tea.   
“Mrs. Hudson said that C would be ready for me tonight,” Jezebel announced as she sipped her tea. Sherlock, who had been busy with one of his experiments paused to look at her. “I think I’ll sleep down there tonight.”   
“Nonsense, with your condition and sensitivity to the cold you would always be suffering an episode down there. No, you’ll stay here, in B.” Sherlock then turned back to his experiment. Jezebel was about to argue but, noticing the set of his jaw, knew he would not be changing his mind on the subject. The two sat in companionable silence as Jezebel finished her tea before she stood, placed the cup in the sink for John to wash later, and turned to Sherlock.  
“There’s nothing on that slide Sherlock, come help me move boxes if you're going to insist on my living here.” Jezebel pulled him up by the arm and dragged him down the stairs and into the basement. The floor had received new carpeting, a nice gray color, and the walls had been insulated and painted a rather pleasant light blue. There was no furniture, aside from the island separating the living area from the kitchen. On the wall opposite the stairs there were three doors, one led to the bedroom, the second led to the bathroom, and the third was actually a ladder up into Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen area. The various boxes had been stacked along the walls of the living area and Jezebel headed towards those.   
“What will we do with this area? I am paying rent on it,” Jezebel asked. The two looked around before turning to each other.  
“A lab,” Sherlock answered. Jezebel nodded and the two set to work. They began to pull out the boxes from the walls and sort through their contents. Boxes with clothes were taken up to B so they could be organized in Sherlock’s room, boxes with scientific equipment stayed down in C, and boxes with books were left by the wall to be sorted and be moved either to B or left in C. Some boxes just had random knick knacks and were left with the boxes of books to be sorted. The clothes boxes were the first to be carried up to B and placed in Sherlock’s room. Sherlock stayed there to organize the clothes in with his as he didn’t want Jezebel messing up his index. Jezebel headed downstairs where she rearranged the furniture to support the scientific equipment. It was when she had moved a few boxes of books to when John decided to come home. As John set about making lunch Jezebel and Sherlock moved Sherlock’s experiments and equipment down to C with the rest of the equipment. They just finished organizing it when John announced that lunch was ready and they all headed upstairs to eat. There were a few peaceful before John went out for milk while Jezebel and Sherlock went downstairs to sort the boxes. It was silent as they unpacked until Sherlock came across something interesting.  
“Is this-?”   
“No”  
“Ah, airsoft?”   
“Yep.”   
Silence descended again as Jezebel continued to rustle through the boxes. Sherlock rustled around a bit more before there was a click and Jezebel yelped looking down at her arm where a small red dot was forming on her pale skin.   
“What the- ow! Sherlock!” She yelped as she stood and grabbed the weapon from the male. Another click was heard and this time it was Sherlock who yelped, the bb catching him on the hand. Jezebel grabbed on of the boxes of bb’s just as Sherlock grabbed the other gun from the box with his own container of bb’s. Jezebel looked at him and they shared a grin before she began firing. Two more of the pellets hit Sherlock in the arms as she darted towards the stairs. Sherlock quickly followed, firing off pellets as he went. Jezebel let out another small cry as a pellet caught her in the back of the knee. “Ow!” She shouted and darted up the steps. Sherlock started up the stairs as well, a deep chuckle echoing up before him and Jezebel turned at the top of the stairs firing off a few more pellets, two hitting him in the knee. Sherlock fell face first on the stairs and Jezebel fell into a fit of laughter. Sherlock quickly stood and started back up the stairs and Jezebel darted off. Sherlock came out of the stairs, pellets flying everywhere as Jezebel attempted to avoid them. Jezebel began to fire back, each of them hissing when the sting of a bb hit them. Jezebel turned tail and began to head towards the stairs, intending to go up to B and lock the door but Sherlock beat her there. Time seemed to slow as Sherlock pulled the trigger on the airsoft gun and Jezebel crouched to avoid the barrage of pellets only for them to slam into the glass behind her of Mrs. Hudson’s door. Losing her balance Jezebel fell back into the door behind her and the now cracked glass shattered under the force.   
The two of them froze both looking at the shattered pieces on the floor. Silent moments passed before-  
“Sherlock? What was that?” Mrs. Hudson called and her light footsteps began to come closer to the door. The two detectives shared a panicked look before they began sprinting up the stairs. Just as the door to B slammed closed Mrs. Hudson came upon the mess and quickly started up the stairs as fast her hip would let her.   
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Jezebel Anne Blithe, you two get down here and explain right this instant!” Mrs. Hudson’s voice echoed up before her and had the two detectives locking and barricading the door.   
“The kitchen!” Sherlock hissed urgently and they quickly headed into the kitchen, only having time to lock the door before Mrs. Hudson was upon them. Now giggling like school children they ran back to Sherlock’s room and locked the door there as well and barricaded themselves in waiting for John to arrive home and hopefully call Mrs. Hudson off.


	8. Author's Note

Hey guys, I hate to have made you all wait so long but I ran into a dead end with this story. However, I'm not going to give up on it. It's been a while but I've finally decided on how I'm going to change it and where I will be going with it. Don't worry though, there will still be the same witty banter between Sherlock and Jezebel. I just want to make it so there is not as much of me just inserting a character into the transcripts. I'm also going to make Jezebel just a tad less like Sherlock. Think more BAU from Criminal Minds than Sherlock. Still amazing with human psychology and finding suspects but not quite a prodigy. To those of you still with me, Thanks for the patience. I hope to have a new beginning to this story up for you by tomorrow evening. Maybe sooner so keep an eye out.


	9. Authors Note

Alright guys, the new version of this fic is up and started. Now It's titled "Not the Only One (Rewritten)" and you can go to my profile and check it out! Hope to hear from you all soon!


End file.
